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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918792">Gay and Reckless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/She5los/pseuds/She5los'>She5los</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, He's just a sweetie!!!, Jewish Hubert, Miscommunication, Modern AU, Semi-gratuitous pop culture references, Slice of Life, Soft Hubert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:29:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/She5los/pseuds/She5los</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hubert and Bernadetta are dating, they've been dating for well over a year, they've been openly engaged for nearly two months now, so why are their friends surprised to receive save-the-date cards?</p><p>Or: Hubert is so openly and honestly gay that no one suspects he might be dating a woman, and he and Bernadetta are both so subtle that nobody puts two and two together for a year and a half.  A look at all the events and miscommunications that lead to a very unexpected call from Edelgard.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg/Petra Macneary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Gay and Reckless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I tried to include enough context for all the pop culture and brand references that they wouldn't be confusing even if you aren't familiar with them.</p><p>I'm a huge fan of the "Hubert represents every Medieval Jewish stereotype, and then subverts all of them by developing powerful, positive friendships" meta-analysis, so I just went ahead and made him Jewish in this fic, which is especially exciting for a marriage fic!  (Side note: most/all Jewish people have a Jewish name which may be different from their secular name!  Sometimes they match and sometimes they don't.  That name is important for legal/prayer purposes, which is why you'll see Hubert referred to as Hosea at the end of this story.)  I figure capitalism is the closest thing to the Church of Sothis that modern America has, so Hubert is in finance.  (I realized later that that's another Jewish stereotype, which Hubert breaks because we all know he's into rebelling against corrupt systems...)</p><p>I didn't want to put real-world events into the story, because WOW is there a lot going on here, but it's set in the Seattle area in the recent past, but without any of the recent events that would give it an Extremely Specific Time Period.  (Hubert absolutely helps his grandparents with grocery delivery during self-isolation, though.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Wait, wait, wait," Dorothea said.  She leaned over the table and Hubert worried she’d dip the little flower in the tea she’d spilled when she sat down.  "Back up.  Hoooold your horses there, mister.  She gave it to you in her </span>
  <em>
    <span>where?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"In her room," Hubert said again.  "Is it really that shocking?"  Bernadetta barely left her room.  She even bought several meals' worth of food to keep in her mini fridge just to avoid going out on campus more often than she wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea looked up from the embroidered flower pin Hubert had handed her.  Her eyes were deadly serious when she said, "You need to protect this with your life."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert snorted.  "I'm aware," he assured her.  "Edelgard said almost the same thing; you're sure you don't have some kind of telepathy, or hive mind, or…?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We just both know how precious Bernie is," Dorothea said casually, and handed the flower back.  "Ugh, I would never want to be in a hive mind with her; she spends all her time worrying about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and no offense, Hubie, but as much as I like you now, I really prefer you in small doses."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No offense taken," Hubert assured her.  "It's mutual."  Dorothea was a great friend to have, but like most performers, she was too high-energy to tolerate for long periods of time.  She was fantastic at parties, though.  "What does Bernadetta's room have to do with anything, though?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it's her hideaway," Dorothea reminded him.  "Her bolt-hole.  Her Fortress of Solitude.  That lech in my History of Currency class, Sylvain?  He said they met in a fiction writing class freshman year and became writing buddies, and he tried to go in her room a couple weeks ago and she kicked him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was too much happening in that sentence, so Hubert just said, "I don't trust anyone people refer to as 'that lech from IPE' to give me the full story about trying to go into women's rooms."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not, like, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>creep,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dorothea said, which was very generous of her.  “He’s just reeeeally obsessed with himself.  I know worse men.”  She had a sip of her chai.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, going back to Bernadetta: she said I creep her out less when I wear it, so I’ve been thinking of getting some more to hold me over while I commission more from her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooooh, Hubiiiiiie, turning into a regular patron of the arts, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert shrugged.  “She has a talent,” he admitted.  “And I know she’s been working on getting away from her parents.  My understanding is that art degrees can take a while to turn into reasonably good income.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t all sell our souls for business degrees,” Dorothea sighed.  “I’m glad the job fair leads turned into something, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert smiled tightly and said, “Thanks,” instead of saying anything about her extremely insulting metaphor.  He could hardly insult the arts as frivolous as payback when he was commissioning Bernadetta and owned all of Dorothea’s recordings.  “And I heard Petra found an apartment for the three of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea grinned.  “She did!  Some~one gets to be a sugar baby again!” she declared in a singsong voice.  It was proof of her talents that she could </span>
  <em>
    <span>say a tilde.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  “Mittelfrank should definitely take me back, though, and even the chorus makes decent money.  Can’t say I’d object to being a jet-setting international diva for the rest of my life, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fingers crossed,” Hubert agreed, smiling a little.  Where he was going to live was much more up in the air.  Ferdinand had offered to get an apartment together, which would be practical from a financial standpoint since they were in similar fields, but did he really want to live with Ferdinand again?  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ferdinand?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Their lifestyles had no overlap, and like Dorothea, Ferdinand could get exhausting after too much exposure.  Linhardt and Caspar were spoken for, Bernadetta had already found a one-person apartment, and the ‘first apartment’ experience El, Petra, and Dorothea were looking for was decidedly one with no men involved, even one who wanted nothing to do with their relationship.  Hubert was decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>looking forward to finding a roommate in finance or computers or something, who also wasn’t a complete slob, who wouldn’t infest their apartment with athletic paraphernalia, and who wasn’t homophobic or too otherwise bigoted to ignore.  As Edelgard so often said: with men, the bar was underground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I certainly have the work ethic for it,” Dorothea bragged.  “Hey, do you think I have the stamina to be Brunhilde?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know who that is,” Hubert reminded her.  Not everybody was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>aware </span>
  </em>
  <span>of operas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know.  The woman from the Ring Cycle.  The brass bra and the hoyte-ho-ing and the flying horses and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only Ring I know is the horror movie,” Hubert admitted.  “I know the Loony Tunes version.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea reached across the tiny cafe table to smack him on the arm.  “You’re the worst, Hubie,” she scolded.  “The absolute worst.  I’ll have to be Brunhilde now, just so you can come to my performance and get some culture!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll look forward to it,” he admitted.  “I’ll have to get my career rolling pretty quickly so I can get something better than balcony side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea laughed.  “If I’m ever Brunhilde, I think I’ll be able to comp you,” she pointed out.  “Don’t worry, Hubie; I’ll get some culture into you one of these days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate it,” he joked.  He was cultured enough.  For a business major, he was very cultured.  He was going to see Dorothea’s senior recital and Bernadetta’s thesis exhibit, wasn’t he?  He watched international movies with Petra and went to book signings and lecture series with Ferdinand.  He’d even picked up a few words in Italian, thanks to Dorothea, and could recognize the most famous arias.  He was about as cultured as could be expected.  “In the meantime, just keep telling me when I can buy your music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just keep repping my recital to everyone you know,” Dorothea ordered.  “It’s gonna be really fun.  I’m doing ‘Glitter and be Gay’ and it’s gonna kick ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, and which other songs I’ve never heard of?” Hubert goaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ughhhhhh, how have you never watched Candide?” Dorothea complained.  “You’d love it!  It’s cynical!  It’s witty!  It has Kristen fucking Chenoweth in it!  And it’s by Leonard Bernstein.  You’re always looking for gay artists, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear he was a better artist when he ignored the gay stuff,” Hubert said, somehow maintaining a straight face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea choked on her chai.  When she recovered, she said, “No fair quoting John Mulaney when I’m trying to have a drink!  Anyway: great musical, gay author, and the blonde girl from Wicked’s in the stage recording.  The whole thing runs on irony and sadness, but it’s also </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely </span>
  </em>
  <span>funny.  It was tailor-made for you, Hubie.  We have to watch it together sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll pencil it in right next to Bernie's art show, my twelve-page Meiji Reformation essay, apartment hunting, roommate hunting, convincing Linhardt not to keep their rat--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Roommate hunting?  Weren't you going to go in with Ferdie?" Dorothea asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of listing out everything that could possibly go wrong with Ferdinand, Hubert just said, "I don't live with people who need different shoes for running and zumba."  He got along better with Ferdinand when they each had their own living space and he didn't have to ask questions like 'why are there three pairs of athletic shoes on the shoe rack when I don't own any?'  Hubert's life was simply better when he never had to search the depths of his soul for the answer to the question, 'do leggings still count as pants when they're failing to hide a boner?' when he was just trying to binge-watch a show on Netflix with his roommate who'd just come in from a "light jog" that had left him sweaty and flushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you did this year," Dorothea pointed out. "Do you know what Ferdinand's going to do, then?  Maybe room with Bernie? I'm sure she could use a roommate…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She said she found a one-bedroom in Loog Green," Hubert told her.  "She's planning to do mostly commissions, so she doesn't mind living out of the way."  If Hubert found a decent apartment in a desirable location, it would be a slog getting over there for dates, but he couldn't deny that living alone was probably best for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can always live alone, if you're gonna be picky," Dorothea pointed out.  She checked her phone and had some more chai.  "Or you can bite the bullet and keep living with Ferdie and his zumba shoes."  She stood and hefted her purse onto her shoulder.  "I have a Brigid final," she said, clapping Hubert on the shoulder.  "See you later!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good luck," Hubert told her, startled.  "I'm sure you'll do great."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Planning to!" Dorothea said, waving without looking back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert smiled and sent off a quick IM to his girlfriend: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heard Sylvain was being a creep last week and you kicked him.  Good job!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too late at night for essay writing (not that that had ever stopped Hubert) when Bernie messaged him on Discord:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>911!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bad Shit going down!!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What's wrong?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he asked.  That could be anything from 'Caspar doesn't realize I want to leave this conversation' to 'I need you to drive me to the hospital,' and while he felt a very familiar tension in his chest from worry, it could very easily just require him to walk to her dorm and back.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My parents are coming to graduation in person!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bernadetta messaged back.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why are they coming to graduation in person?  Can't they tell me how worthless my degree is electronically???</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'll ask around,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hubert wrone back.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>We can't keep them away if they have tickets and everything, but we CAN make sure you have a friend nearby all day.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A few moments of radio silence, several more of 'BernieBear is typing…' and then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you think I could tag along with someone else for dinner?  I don't like to eat around my dad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn't like to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> around her dad, either, but Hubert noticed they were already compromising on that point.  But he just typed,</span>
  <em>
    <span> Yeah, that should be easy.  If they don't get the subtle 'no,' I'll just strong-arm them.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> not above being a human shield.  He could be really obnoxious when he put his mind to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One fun thing about not researching your friend's songs before you went to her recital was that the funny ones were </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> funny.  Dorothea opened her senior recital with a slow song that surely showed excellent technique and artistry, and which was incredibly boring to Hubert, a person who didn't know probably-Italian and didn't enjoy opera that much for its own sake.  The acoustics in the campus chapel were stunning, though, he had to admit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she got her signal from the professors who were grading her performance, Dorothea smiled her charming smile.  "I'd like to dedicate this next song to my good friend Ferdinand," she announced smoothly.  "I like to think it represents a part of our relationship that we've moved past during our time here."  Bernadetta snorted next to his shoulder.  Hubert checked his program: Glitter and be Gay.  He guessed he was about to learn what the big deal was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song was mournful.  Hubert worried that the whole recital was going to be slow and boring and he'd have to find something to compliment, anyway.  At least this one was in English.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Oh.  Did she just say…?  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as Hubert realized the whole thing was a send-up of the sort of entitled self-righteousness that Ferdinand had, in fact, embodied when they'd all been shoved into the same freshman Exploration class, the music picked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Toward the end of the song, Hubert and Bernie were leaning against each other for support as they made heroic attempts not to laugh at the song that Dorothea was ribbing their friend with so transparently.  Fortunately, the very end was just a bunch of fancy, wordless singing meant to show off the soprano's talents, and it was much  harder to be funny without words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea hit the high notes strong and clear.  The song was obviously a success.  Ferdinand stood to applaud, and joined in with the theatre and music students who whooped and whistled in applause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other two songs were also excellent -- Hubert didn't have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> the style to know Dorothea was doing a great job -- but there were no more funny ones.  She did end on a fun one with a quick tempo and fierce attitude, but it was in Italian, or possibly Spanish.  He supposed he could have Googled a translation while he listened, but it seemed rude and he preferred watching his friend succeed and feeling Bernadetta's shoulder against his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the recital was over, everyone who was there for just Dorothea filed out and the people who'd come to hear the next singer were allowed in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorothea's arrival was announced by Petra, who yelled "Dory!!!" and picked her up in a hug like she weighed nothing.  As soon as she was set down, Edelgard grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her before congratulating her.  Some other music students got to her next, and then Ferdinand, who told her just how much he had loved 'his' aria.  Hubert and Bernadetta stood in the background by the refreshments, Bernie nibbling cheese and crackers while Hubert nursed a paper cup of terrible coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, and all my  friends from freshman year know this, but my friend Bernadetta is having her Fine Arts thesis show tomorrow!" Dorothea said eventually, expertly passing all the attention to the person who least wanted it.  "It's this elaborate mixed-media show about poisonous plants.  Four-thirty in the first floor of the art building!  Bernie, do you want to pitch your show?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Um!"  She swallowed her mouthful of food and said, "It explores beauty and danger, and the m-mysterious allure of flirting with death," she said.  "And there will be snacks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So appropriate for Finals Week, right?" Dorothea asked, pulling everyone's eyes back to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Dorothea's show, Ferdinand and Caspar had promised to help Bernadetta start moving her things.  Hubert hung around, trying to help with some last-minute packing since he just wasn't suited to carrying heavy boxes and would probably just slow the others down in the stairwell.  He even got the very special job of cleaning out Bernie's locker in the art building, where she'd stored just about every artistic medium known to man.  He tried to keep like things together as he emptied it all into the plastic tub Bernie had given him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here are art supplies," he said as he approached Ferdinand's car.  Ferdinand and Caspar were taking turns carrying things and watching the car, and Ferdinand was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, I know you said you were looking for a place alone," Ferdinand said,  "But I found a </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice two-bedroom, two-bath right by a bus line, with a spectacular view out of the breakfast nook.  I really think you should at least look at the listing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand knew him too well.  That was the problem.  Hubert wanted a single apartment or a roommate he got along with, but anything bigger than a studio was too expensive and Hubert wasn't really the getting-along sort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll look," he promised.  "We're renegotiating the house rules, though."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, believe me, I have some changes I want from you, too," Ferdinand assured him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's even, then," Hubert said.  He offered his hand.  "If the place looks good, and we can agree to new terms, I'll cosign with you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand shook his hand.  "Sounds good!" he agreed as Caspar came out of the building, followed by Bernadetta.  He looked over at them.  "Are you gonna need an IKEA trip after finals?" he asked.  "I'm not sure my car can manage that…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's furnished," she said, darting over to the back passenger seat.  She opened the door and smiled at Hubert.  "Thanks for helping with packing!  I'll have you over when I can."  Looking at Ferdinand, she asked if he needed the address for GPS.  Hubert walked back to his own room to get some of his own packing sorted out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand had sent a Redfin link by the time Hubert got home.  Instead of being a responsible adult who was mindful of the scant 72 hours until he had to be gone, he opened his laptop to look at the place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It looked good.  It looked entirely livable.  The kitchen was small, but had plenty of shelving.  The living room was sizeable enough that Ferdinand could have a sports corner without Hubert feeling like he was going to commit murder if he tripped on another barbel.  The previous tenant was even offering a one-time price for the furniture they'd be leaving behind, and the breakfast nook (because who didn't want a breakfast nook?) had an adjacent wall with windows and a glass door that led onto a narrow balcony that, yes, did have a beautiful view of a suburban valley with lots of trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all very standard, design-wise: beige carpet, white walls, shitty wood veneer on the cupboards, linoleum floors for all the rooms with sinks.  The building had coin-op laundry, but at least the machines were in the building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert messaged Ferdinand back,</span>
  <em>
    <span> I feel like I could live there with you.  Have you vetted it, or are we making a trip?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Graduation was long, hot, and obnoxious, and Hubert spent it texting his friends.  The only mildly exciting part came at the end, when the Theater majors (sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Theatre)</span>
  </em>
  <span> applauded as loudly and obnoxiously as possible for everyone in their major.  If nothing else, it made sense of why that small section in the back had </span>
  <em>
    <span>exploded</span>
  </em>
  <span> with cheers for a few double-majors earlier in the ceremony.  As Hubert was also planning to be obnoxious, albeit less publicly, he could hardly begrudge them that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie came and found him, Ferdie, and Edelgard almost immediately when the ceremony closed, presumably so her parents couldn't reach her first.  Hubert, possibly because he was the tallest and possibly because he had more family members in attendance, spotted his family first and took Bernie's hand to lead her over to them so they couldn't get separated as he picked his way through grads who had already shed their cheap polyester robes in the Summer heat, and marveled at the grads from Hawaii who could be distinguished solely because they were piled so high with leis they looked like the stakes in some sort of festive ring toss game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look at you, Hubert!  A graduate!" his mom said as he approached, and pulled him down to kiss him on the cheek.  "Hardly pre-med, though, is it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I have a pre-med friend," Hubert told her, and stepped away to hug his dad and his grandparents.  "Maybe they should go to lunch with you, instead?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Business makes an excellent pre-law major, you know," Zayde pointed out.  "All the banks treat their workers like machines now, no respect for experience.  Law is where </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to go."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think I'll at least get a little experience first," Hubert said.  "Everyone, this is Bernadetta, my girlfriend I told you about."  He put a hand on the back of Bernie's shoulders.  It felt a little too much like PDA, but he wanted his family to have an absolutely rock-solid impression of their relationship in case her parents found her and tried to pull her away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Um, n-nice to meet all of you," Bernie said, her voice nearly getting lost in the clamor of post-graduation mingling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We have some more time before our reservation, but maybe we should get to the restaurant?" Dad asked.  "We can always hang around outside."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bernadetta!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta shrieked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bernie, we've been looking all over for you!" Bernie's dad told her.  "We'll be late to lunch!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh.  U-u-um… Well…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There must be some mistake," Hubert cut in, doing his best impression of sincere concern.  "Bernie was planning to come to lunch with my family.  We've been planning it for weeks."  It was a lie, but he'd already told his family that that was the story, so he knew they had his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, but we came all the way out," Bernie's mom said.  "Bernie, dear, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice to see you walk at graduation.  And here I thought you'd never make it, with all the trouble you had in high school!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She very nearly got </span>
  <em>
    <span>cum laude,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hubert said.  At some point, he'd taken his hand off Bernie's shoulder, so he put it back.  "Here, I don't want my grandparents standing out here in the heat too long," he told Bernadetta.  "We should go.  I'll see if Bubbe and Zayde want to ride with me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," Bernie said, smiling apologetically at her parents.  "I'll catch up with you at dinner."  She turned toward Hubert's family.  His mom and dad were arguing over whether it would be better for Hubert to be a lawyer or a doctor, even though he very clearly intended  to be neither.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you might've said you had plans when we brought it up a week ago," Bernie's dad said as Hubert tried to turn her away from her parents.  "We'll practically have to leave town to find a good place for dinner, now that it's the day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just got confused," Bernie said.  An excellent excuse, masterfully delivered.  "Everyone's plans came together so fast, I thought Hubert's family's thing was a dinner.  Sorry!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie's mom turned to Hubert's parents, a fascinating move when his grandparents were right there, and said, "Well, you've met her, though, right?  You wouldn't keep our little Bernie from us when she just graduated…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The reservation is for six people, exactly," Zayde declared, like the stern patriarch he was.  "We can't add two people when the restaurant's going to be packed."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And she might be our granddaughter one day," Bubbe pointed out.  "We barely know anything about her.  Come along, Dear, you'll have to tell me all about your senior exhibit while Hubert drives us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert usually hated his family, but in that particular moment, he loved them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert's parents continued arguing with Bernadetta's parents as a distraction as Hubert led the women to his car.  Bubbe had worked in a frame shop for a while, and knew all the right questions to ask about Bernie's thesis.  He texted his mom, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bernadetta's out of the way.  Come to the restaurant any time,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and started his car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't so bad living with Ferdinand, as it turned out.  Moving was hell because moving was always hell, but in a situation where they weren't constantly vying for shower and sink space, and where there was enough room for Ferdinand to have his alotted yoga mat of sports equipment in the common room (per their revised agreement) without it becoming a tripping hazard for Hubert, and with enough space for Hubert to have a card table for his "chemistry" experiments instead of having to do them on the same table they ate at, they actually lived pretty well together.  Hubert still thought Ferdinand had a very liberal idea of how much time was acceptable to spend between working out and showering, and Ferdinand surely still thought Hubert was a neat freak who overreacted to messes that weren't a big  deal (he was wrong; Hubert reacted exactly the </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> amount to messes that </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> a big deal), but at least, in a larger apartment, they could live reasonably peacefully together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to Bernie's tomorrow, if you want me to take anything over," he said one lazy Friday evening, tripped out on ketamine as they watched Youtube cooking shows together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You go over there a lot," Ferdinand pointed out.  "Watch out; Edelgard's gonna get jealous.  Ooh, easy pad see ew?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hell yeah," Hubert mumbled.  His desire to turn into a liquid and become one with the couch and Ferdinand's desire to be in compete control of all their shared media was a perfect match, in that moment.  "You're right; I should probably visit Lesbos, too."  When he was sober, Hubert considered the naming of a starter apartment to be repulsively pretentious, not that he would ever say as much.  He had to admit, though: when he was too high to stand, it was prime comedy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand ignored his quiet, persistent laughter as Seonkyoung Longest showed them how to prep rice noodles and make pad see ew sauce and put it all together in a way that burned the soy sauce properly and got plenty of browning on everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess it's partly because no one else will watch horror movies with me," Hubert said when they were between videos yet again.  "She said she needs a reason to put down her work for a few hours, so we're gonna have a double feature.  Someone has to make sure she takes a day off now and then."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, yeah, enjoy your Halloween special,” Ferdinand jabbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And sexy vampires; don’t forget those,” Hubert said.  “I hear this new vampire movie has a lot of shirtless Tom Hiddleston.”  He yawned.  “I’m going to bed.”  He hauled himself up off the couch, taking care not to kick Ferdinand in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's 9:30," Ferdinand protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I'm sleepy," Hubert said as he lurched to the bathroom to brush his teeth.  Really!  Ferdinand was always saying he needed to get to bed earlier.  Anyway, why should Hubert need a reason to visit his girlfriend?  What was he </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say?  He wasn't about to give a play-by-play of what she was like in bed, and Ferdinand wasn't the sort who would be impressed if he did.  Hubert would, quite frankly, be perfectly happy if all their friends knew they did was trade chaste kisses behind closed doors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta buzzed him into the building and unlocked the door for him.  She didn't like answering the door because, apparently, the hallway was a little too much some days.  (Hubert's general opinion about her idiosyncracies was that he didn't need to understand her trauma to respect it.)  As he walked in, Hubert announced, "I have lemon-poppyseed cake from Linhardt's new favorite place."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you put it in the kitchen?" Bernie asked as he set it down on the counter.  "Have you had lunch yet?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked into the living room, which was more of a craft room for all Bernadetta's projects.  It was over-lit, so she was recording one of her YouTube videos.  “I got a ham and cheese croissant at the bakery,” he told her.  “You’ll have to cut that or my bubbe will murder me.  Am I interrupting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I was just doing some in-between work while you came up, so I can get a clean cut,” she told him.  He sat next to her on the crafting couch, careful of the table that had been pulled up unconscionably close, and Bernadetta turned to kiss him and lean against his shoulder for a moment.  “Are you ready to be a guest star?” she teased as she pulled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready as ever,” he told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hit the Record button.  “Alright!  Hubert’s here!” she chirped.  He waved, briefly, for the camera, and then looked down at his phone.  She said having guests gave a “friendly atmosphere” to her videos, but she didn’t mind if those guests didn’t do much.  “So, as I was about to say: I have a really hard time measuring a quarter of the length by eye, but with two pins, you can mark the spots really easy.  It doesn’t have to be exact, of course, but I’ve ended up with some really lopsided flowers.”  Twitter was buzzing over a video Dorothea had posted of a cabaret night she’d performed at, and some fandom analysis and fanart for an anime Hubert didn’t feel inclined to watch.  All in all, a fairly agreeable way to kill time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert did look up, from time to time.  Bernie got so animated when she was doing her show, and Jesus, she was adorable.  Just to mess with the video a little, he picked up one of the little ribbon pieces she’d cut and played with it.  The ribbon was obviously salvaged from something else, with little holes in the sides like they’d been sewn to something, and when he tried to tie simple knots, the ends caught on the soft satin because they were hard and brittle.  He wasn’t that coordinated to begin with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Bernie’s video ended.  Hubert waved goodbye with her and she turned off her camera.  “Thank you for waiting for me,” she said as she leaned against him again.  Hubert put an arm around her shoulder.  “Good job getting that tie knot figured out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured I might as well do something silly while you were being knowledgeable and competent,” Hubert teased.  He pulled her legs up over his knees.  “Now, I’ve been given strict orders by my favorite Bernie in the world to make sure you rest,” he reminded her, and leaned his forehead against hers.  “I won’t be swayed on that.  If nothing else, your fingers could use the break.”  Constantly handling textiles and needles gave them a rough, brittle texture.  Getting poked broke up the outer layer of skin, and the fabrics absorbed any natural oils or lotion.  Hubert grabbed one of her hands and kissed her fingertips.  “Just monster movies for you today.  Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert kissed her.  “I thought that new vampire movie would be good, and then maybe some Mystery Science Theatre?” he asked.  “And, of course, most importantly: the first slice of lemon-poppyseed cake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie smiled and leaned forward so her face was pressed against her knees.  Hubert rubbed up and down her back gently.  “Cake sounds nice,” she admitted.  “Meet me in the bedroom?  I’ll get my laptop set up…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Hubert agreed, and got up, and promptly hit his foot against a table leg as he sidestepped away from the couch.  “Ferdinand sent a cocktail for you to try, if you want.  It’s mostly lemonade and gin, and it’s in the fridge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and I have something for Ferdinand!” Bernie told him, and ducked around him on her way to the other side of the craft table.  “Here, this one’s for you,” she said, holding up a dropper bottle with liquid and gold glitter inside, “And this one’s for Lesbos -- you’re going there later, right?”  The Lesbos bottle was the same as the other, but the glitter was magenta.  Bernie pushed the bottles into Hubert’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am, but what are they?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re glitter for drinks,” Bernie said, clearly extremely pleased with herself.  “Mica powder and vodka.  Like Viniq, but it doesn’t taste like moscato.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert vaguely remembered seeing cocktails with swirling clouds of glitter in them, maybe a few years ago?  He remembered Dorothea getting her hands on some and taking endless pictures.  “How original,” he said instead of pointing out that he had never really been a fan of pointless things.  Ferdinand liked pointless things; he’d probably delighted to have glitter in his tea or seltzer or cocktails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!  But, I’ve found it works best in clear liquids,” Bernie told him as he went to put the bottles next to his shoes, where it would be harder to forget them.  “Wine or tea, mostly.  I tried it in hot cocoa and it didn’t look like much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be sure to mention it,” Hubert promised.  “That doesn’t look like changing into pajamas to me…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!”  Bernie practically jumped, and puttered off into her room while Hubert searched for her silverware drawer and plated a slice of cake.  He’d worn one of his comfiest shirts just for lounging with her, a wide-necked, striped thing he’d gotten in the women’s section.  "Wear your sweatpants while you're here," she called as Hubert grabbed a glass of water, just in case one of them needed it.  "Or no pants; it's been hot…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert wordlessly placed the cake and water on the nightstand as Bernadetta  changed from a flattering black dress into a tank top and sleep shorts.  He thought maybe he should ask her to explain someday how she got her bra off without removing her shirt; it always looked like magic.  Anyway, he was busy removing his belt and shucking off his pants so the stiff fabric wouldn't bother either of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert curled himself up on the wall side of Bernadetta's bed.  It was partly practical, since he was ready before her, and partly something they'd talked about because Bernadetta didn't like feeling penned-in or restricted.  After placing her bra on top of her dresser, she pulled her laptop table around from the foot of the bed, extended it to its full height, and adjusted the angle so they'd both be able to watch fairly easily.  With just the light that filtered through the closed blinds, her room was perfectly lit for a movie with a dark color scheme.  Hubert slid a hand around her waist as she lay down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The movie did feature Shirtless Tom Hiddleston as a prominent character, and an astoundingly beautiful scene where Tilda Swinton flew halfway around the world to help him with his depression and they made implied love to the sound of his poignant, artistic music.  Hubert didn't have any choice but to kiss Bernadetta's neck slowly and excessively, to the point where she paused the movie so they could make out for a while.  Their bare legs in the summer heat stuck together with sweat, just a little.  Hubert murmured some very forgettable things about how precious Bernie was, and how sexy she was, and she rolled on top of him, so he did the only sensible thing and grabbed her ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued for a while, until they were satisfied enough that watching more of the movie sounded more tempting than making out more.  Bernie had a couple bites of cake and quietly told him it was good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a good afternoon: lazy, affectionate…  Hubert treated his  girlfriend to ramen for dinner and they sat at the dining table and discussed the movie that had taken over four hours to watch with all the breaks they took.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert had a very unfortunate IM from Dorothea that he was ignoring, that said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, you're at Bernie's today, right?  Could you swing by Uwajis for me?  I have a sore throat that definitely isn't related to cheaply manufactured dental dams, and I need these magic cough drops my friend gave me once.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Then she included a picture of the cough drops in question, and fortunately did not include a picture of the dental dams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he messaged back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>You have this incredible talent for saying the one thing that'll make me less likely to help you.  Also, is it okay if I get there tomorrow?  I'm running late at Bernie's.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Then he messaged Ferdinand, since he was a thoughtful and courteous roommate, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey do you need anything from Uwajimaya?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who's bugging you?"  Bernie teased as they went to sprawl on the bed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Dorothea.  Says she needs some imported cough drops," Hubert told her.  His phone made the Discord noise, and when he checked it, Dorothea had written, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Edie asks if you want to sleep over.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sounds great,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hubert responded.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'll head out in a few.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  "I'm going for a sleepover, apparently," he told Bernadetta, "so I'll be able to get your glitter to them soon."  He put his phone down on the nightstand and spent some more time cuddling and making out with Bernadetta, but probably not even half an hour.  She liked winding down for bed alone, though, so it all worked out fine.  When they were both relaxed and happy, Hubert kissed her one last time and changed back into his normal pants and went to the door for his shoes and the drink glitter, then kissed Bernie for the last-last time and headed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard's couch,  Hubert had decided at the start of the summer, was on a mission to murder his ankles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It looked like a notably long three-cushion couch.  It looked like, if he didn't stretch out, he could maaaaybe lie down on it the way much shorter people lay on couches, and it always disappointed him.  He'd just flopped down on the couch and was cringing from the way his heels hit the armrest when Dorothea came down the hall.  "Hubie, you're a godsend," she declared, her voice bouncing off the drywall and hardwood.  The sapphic women of Lesbos were lucky enough not to have popcorn ceilings, and though it was aesthetically nice, it did create some unfortunate echoes.  "Was the bakery any good?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're on the counter," Hubert told her as he sat up and rubbed his poor, abused ankles.  He heard the paper packaging tear.  "And Bernie sent glitter to go in drinks, for the whole household.  Ferdinand and I got some, too."  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ooh, sparkly," Dorothea said.  He heard her shaking it.  "Hey, I'm getting some wine to take a picture.  Do you want anything?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What kind of wine?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Port, and dark chocolate to go with it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bring extra chocolate," Edelgard called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I'll have some port," Hubert added.  "And, yes, I had a savory croissant and got Bernie some cake and it was all good."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They eventually settled down, the three of them with two glasses, most of a bottle of port, a tiny bottle of glitter suspended in vodka, and a bowl of chocolate chips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert gave the full report on How Bernie Was Doing: that he was going to be in an upcoming video, and they'd watched a movie, and yes he'd made sure she relaxed, and yes he got a balanced meal into her before he left.  Edelgard and her girlfriends had also had a laid-back, romantic day of hanging out at the park, and Hubert got to hear about all the funniest exploits of the local water birds and small children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert wouldn't agree to watch a new movie while he was still taking in the vampire movie from earlier, still haunted by its music and the contrast between the way the characters had languished from drinking blood bank blood, but drinking the blood of young lovers was symbolic of their rejuvenated relationship and passion for life (or undeath, as it were.)  He eventually agreed to a Matrix rewatch; it would be different now, knowing it was made by the Wachowski Sisters and not the Wachowski Brothers.  It would also be different because he hadn't seen it since he was a teenager.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard cuddled up to him and he put an arm around her petite shoulders.  Petra came, presumably summoned by a text or IM, and Dorothea sat on the floor between her legs, sipping wine and eating chocolate as her girlfriend braided her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The best thing about watching The Matrix as an adult, as it turned out, was that he could suspend his disbelief well enough that Mr. Smith no longer looked like Elrond in a suit with a bad haircut.  The best thing about watching The Matrix when you knew it was made by closeted trans women was pretty much everything about The Matrix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was past ten when the movie ended, almost ten-thirty.  Petra offered to find Hubert some pajama pants to wear and he accepted gladly.  Dorothea started finger-combing the braids out of her hair, and stood and stretched her back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They mostly just chatted after that, lazily winding down toward sleep, making brunch plans for the morning.  Sometime past midnight, they all went to bed in their usual arrangement: Hubert slept in Edelgard's bed and Edelgard slept elsewhere.  This time, she would be in Dorothea's room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert put his wine glass of water and his phone down on the nightstand and changed his pants, then curled up into Edelgard's too-small bed and messaged Bernie to say good night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brunch with Lesbos was always a to-do.  Petra was awake by the time Hubert wandered groggily down the hall, with a mug of strong black tea in front of her at the dining table.  Her hair was pulled into a messy bun against the summer heat even though it was barely nine in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert mumbled a greeting and went to make coffee.  His coffee tin had, predictably, wandered most of the way toward the back of the freezer, because he needed to visit Lesbos more often.  He found the cabinet with the mugs on the third try and the flatware drawer on the second try, and got some water started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was more than half done with his coffee and Petra was lying on the couch playing phone games, Edelgard messaged him, saying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Help, she's too cute when she sleeps,</span>
  </em>
  <span> so Hubert, being a good friend and all, went to use the bathroom and "accidentally" slammed the door on the way in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it was under half an hour until they were all assembled in the living room, discussing whether they wanted to try something new or go somewhere they liked.  Finally, Edelgard made a definitive decision so that everyone would stop being too nice to choose, and they all split up to get dressed.  They all walked to the brunch spot together.  Hubert finally remembered to compliment Dorothea's performance from Wednesday, Petra told him her parents had sent her a </span>
  <em>
    <span>case</span>
  </em>
  <span> of halvah from Brigid and he was welcome to a can, and life continued as normal.  A couple hours after brunch, after chilling with Edelgard in the living room until she no longer wanted a guest and he no longer wanted to be away from home, Hubert took the halvah and went home, shooting off a quick message to Bernie and then one to Edelgard to say he was home safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holidays always rolled around.  Hubert celebrated the High Holy Days with his family by obligation, and Thanksgiving with his friends only after intensive bargaining with his mom (and somehow convincing her he was the only one of his friends who didn't increase the chances of a fire by standing in a kitchen).  For Chanukkah, he got a very cheap menorah and drippy candles at Fred Meyer and got an order of fries when he went in on takeout gyros with Ferdinand.  For Christmas, he requested that his friends create a separate Discord server for their festive planning, but still got to have a nice, quiet, festive dinner with Bernadetta at a dim sum restaurant.  Ferdinand had made plans to stay at Lesbos because he planned to get notably drunk, so Bernie made plans to stay over at Hubert's apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nice.  It was really nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you ever think about… um…  I mean, I know it's pretty convenient for you, living with Ferdinand," Bernie said as they snuggled together under the sheets.  "But, um… Well, if things keep going this way…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you think you'd be okay with living with me?" Hubert asked.  He hadn't brought it up because he hadn't been sure she'd feel comfortable, living with a man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, we're planning to someday, right?" Bernie pointed out, and slid her hand down and up Hubert's thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll bring it up to Ferdinand," Hubert promised, combing his fingers through Bernie's silky purple hair.  "I know he wants me out of his space as much as I want him out of mine."  He pulled her head against his chest.  Then he returned the topic to lovemaking and whether Bernadetta had enjoyed herself as much as he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie went home in the morning by bus and Hubert went to work.  Since he, Ferdinand, and Edelgard all worked in the same building, it was simple enough for Ferdinand to arrive in Edelgard's car and go home in Hubert's.  That evening, he asked Ferdinand about moving out when their lease was up, and Ferdinand brought up a friend from college who Hubert didn't remember until Ferdinand mentioned his purple hair.  Lorenz was insufferable, with the same taste for mediocre poetry and fancy tea blends as Ferdinand, and when he'd come to their suite for a tea tasting or to watch rom-coms and Hallmark movies with Ferdinand, Hubert had put a high priority on finding somewhere else to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Ferdinand would be famously good roommates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm glad to hear you wouldn't be too broken up about it," Hubert remarked as he grabbed a condiment dish from the cabinet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it was always inevitable," Ferdinand pointed out as Hubert grabbed halvah and dark chocolate from the snack cupboard.  "Do you have a roommate in mind, or are you looking at a one-person apartment?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bernadetta brought it up," Hubert admitted.  "We've only gotten closer since college."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bernadetta?" Ferdinand asked.  "There's… a bit of an income gap there, isn't there?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's a bit of an income gap on Lesbos," Hubert pointed out.  They didn't mention it, of course, but even at a famous opera house, even playing a decent number of supporting characters between chorus gigs, Dorothea made less money than her girlfriends, and her student loans were notably larger.  For women who planned to combine their finances, it didn't seem like a huge deal, and Hubert and Bernadetta were in a similar position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, yes, but Lesbos is… You know," Ferdinand said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was right: the throuple was older, more stable.  Its members, themselves, were more stable.  Nevertheless, Hubert wanted to keep his relationship with Bernadetta moving forward, and he thought he'd probably want to live with her even if they weren't together.  She had good taste in movies, their aesthetics were similar, and it just felt like they spoke the same language in some way Hubert couldn't describe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We haven't discussed price range yet," Hubert said.  "I'm sure we'll figure something out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand frowned.  "I don't know," he said slowly, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.  "I know you love her.  I know you wear her little flowers even when she's not around, and she can tolerate you better than… well, better than </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the rest of us, really.  I just wonder if she's really up to it, even if you reach a fair agreement."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Discussing it now gives her several months to reconsider," Hubert pointed out.  It had been years since Bernadetta had had a roommate, and Hubert had already reminded her that they could take their time if it made her feel more secure.  "I'm glad you were already thinking about other co-tenants; I wouldn't want to leave you in the lurch."  They had their disagreements, but Ferdinand wasn't a bad roommate so much as he and Hubert were a mediocre match.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, no, don't worry about me for a second," Ferdinand protested.  "I get along with everybody, and you're giving me almost half a year to ask around."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert cocked an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well.  Everybody who wants to be gotten along with," Ferdinand conceded.  "Should I talk to Lorenz, or do you think we should give Bernadetta a month or two to see if she's as serious as she thinks she is?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can mention it," Hubert said.  "If our plans change, they change.  If Bernie and I   make a different decision at a more awkward time of year, I can always sublet to Lorenz."  It was forbidden on their current lease, but he could always ask about it when the rent was inevitably raised and they signed the next year's lease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess," Ferdinand conceded.  "Draw up an agreement before you go in on anything together, though, okay?  I know her business has been good, but we both know her rates are low."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that summed up Ferdinand: he didn't think they were ready, but he wasn't about  to protest that they </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren't</span>
  </em>
  <span> ready, just wanted to make sure they really thought things through.  That was good enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard, he asked that Friday evening as they wound down at a wine bar after work: "What do you think of Bernie and me getting a place together when our leases come up?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What, all the way in the summer?" she asked, and tugged at her jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert nodded and had a sip of his dry red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think you already visit her all the time," El pointed out.  "I think you'd get along better than you and Ferdinand.  Would you be okay sacrificing your living room to the crafting gods?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It would be a three-bedroom," Hubert clarified.  He hadn't discussed it with Bernadetta, but she would need a craft space, and they would need a living space that wasn't infested with clutter. He understood the necessity of her mess, but he didn't intend to live in the middle of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And where are you thinking this affordable three-bedroom apartment would be?" El challenged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Probably close enough to a bus route," Hubert said.  "There's always park and ride.  I really think we could make it work."  There was a spark of hope in his voice that he hadn't let himself feel around Ferdinand.  He really wanted things to work out with Bernie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't see why not, then," El told him, and knocked back some white wine whose description Hubert had already forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't think it's too soon?" Hubert clarified.  "I sort of feel like… Moving every year is what I did in college.  I'd like to not do that for a while, if possible."  Except to a house, maybe, but that would probably take at least two or three years, if his job was as stable as he hoped and they were lucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Heck, if she's down and the cost works for both of you, I think it would be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> move," El told him.  "It's been really great watching the two of you get really comfortable around each other."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was very sweet of her to say.  Hubert smiled a little and thanked her for the advice, and asked how Dorothea's caroling idea had gone, fully aware that it had been a hilarious disaster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In March, Hubert sat down with Bernie to discuss the financial realities of renting together.  Since she charged, functionally, $20/hour (technically, $40/hour, but she paid her own payroll tax), he wasn't expecting her to--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You made </span>
  <em>
    <span>how much</span>
  </em>
  <span> last month?" he asked as he actually looked at her bank statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I didn't tell you?  My income's pretty good, actually."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert flipped through the statement, looking for credits that would give her such a comfortable amount.  "That's pre-tax, though, right?" he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, yeah, that's why it looks like I spent so much: when I get paid I transfer half the money to the savings account I pay my taxes from," Bernie assured him.  She slid another statement toward him.  "That's this one."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But where does all the money come fr--" Hubert paused as he saw, at the start of the month, a notable amount of money from her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh!  I blackmail my parents," Bernie told him cheerfully.  "I got a little camera and an external hard drive during high school, and I showed them the footage after college, and now they leave me alone and send money.  It's been great for getting an IRA started."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's insane," Hubert said.  "They haven't offered to settle?  With that kind of money, you could have your portfolio opened and shut.  You could have a house.  Why bleed the money out slowly?"  Child abuse settlements weren't usually terribly luctrative, but clearly, Bernie's price was high and, considering her father's high-level government position, a very significant settlement wasn't out of the question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie looked down.  "I spent my whole life afraid of my father," she told him without looking up.  "At least for a while, I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be afraid of </span>
  <em>
    <span>me."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, then.  Hubert's girlfriend was a ruthless blackmailer seeking revenge for her ruined childhood and ongoing trauma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to admit, it was pretty badass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Any other skeletons in the closet?" Hubert asked.  "Just so there aren't any surprises.  You know."  Everything else looked like what he'd expect: small-to-medium debits for food, craft supplies, and housewares; medium-to-large credits from individual people, transfers of money to the savings account Bernie had told him about, with the same amounts reflected in that account's record.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope," Bernie assured him.  "Just that.  That's a good amount, though, right?  And the blackmail money shows up as gifts.  I'm just a sweet little trust fund baby getting some cash infusions to help start up my small business."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, as a pair of renters, we're pretty solid," Hubert confirmed.  He was not expecting that, despite her assurance that her credit score was good.  It was a pleasant, but very weird, surprise.  "I was also thinking about how many rooms we'd need," he told her.  "I feel like your work studio should have its own room."  That wouldn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>eliminate</span>
  </em>
  <span> clutter in the living room, but it would ensure the living room wasn't the primary site of her clutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And, um…  Would you…  Would you be mad if I wanted my own room?" Bernie all but whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I more or less expected it," Hubert told her.  Ugh, and they'd need to buy furniture, wouldn't they?  "It isn't a problem; I think I'll like having some space, too.  If we find we're sleeping together every night, we can always find a smaller place in the future."  He was a pretty private person, too.  He hadn't shared a room with anyone -- on an ongoing basis, at least -- since he was a sophomore in college, and he wasn't feeling any particular urge to repeat the experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you… ever think about a future with me?" Bernadetta asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the big question, wasn't it?  A lease was for a year; as commitments went, it wasn't very much.  An engagement, followed by a marriage, was at least an attempt at commitment for life, even if they weren't always successful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, when he thought about the future,  Hubert had started to imagine Bernadetta alongside him: a detached house, maybe a Craftsman with terrible insulation or a tacky 80's stucco in the suburbs.  Maybe a townhouse with all-new finishes in flawlessly modern, soul-sucking gray that did nothing to alleviate the drudgery of the weather outside.  One or two children, maybe, if Bernie wanted them.  Hubert knew instinctively that Bernie would be the stern parent and he would be the soft one.  Candles and wine at Friday dinner, and if nobody sang the prayers in their house, who was to say they hadn't celebrated or been thankful?  And, of course, Bernie's artistic touches everywhere, creeping into Hubert's life the way they'd crept into her apartment right now, into his wardrobe, into every one of their friends' lives in some way or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think about it all the time," Hubert told her, feeling bashful and hoping it didn't show on his face.  "I have the worst habit of getting ahead of myself.  I think, first, we need to  know if we enjoy living together."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah-- right," Bernie said.  "Are there any neighborhoods you were thinking of?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My guess is as good as yours," Hubert pointed out.  "As long as it's near a bus line, I'll be alright."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just, like… A general search?" Bernie clarified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah.  See what prices are like in the area," Hubert agreed.  He pulled his laptop across the table and opened it up.  "Guess it's  time for a good, old-fashioned Zillow search," he joked, smirking.  Two years ago, Bernie would have gotten all frazzled from that look, convinced he was up to something sinister.  Now, she just smiled at the joke and scooted her chair just a bit closer to his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert had moved before, but he hadn't been </span>
  <em>
    <span>housewarmed. </span>
  </em>
  <span> All his friends had moved at the same time last year, in the mad scramble that came around finals.  They weren't about to have five separate parties to celebrate that.  But now, Hubert and Bernadetta opened their apartment up to friends on their third weekend, when they were mostly unpacked and had started to remember where the plates and mugs and things were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all brought potluck dishes to put on the new dining table, bought with the intention of seating 2-4, and sat on the new couches and chairs dragged over from the table.  Hubert and Bernadetta provided sangria and soda for people to drink out of their red Solo cups.  There was an incident where Caspar did a handstand for several seconds and Ferdinand fell over four times trying to best him.  Dorothea sang a song about buying a house, or being comfortable in a house, or something along those lines.  Around the time people were starting to go home, they realized Linhardt had disappeared and quickly found them sleeping on Hubert's bed.  They yawned awake and complimented Hubert's taste in mattresses as they and Caspar prepared to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Ferdinand and Lorenz went, and then Dorothea and Petra went to "take another look at the rooftop garden," and it was just Edelgard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think you'll be really happy here," she told them as she settled on the couch next to Hubert.  His arm fell around her shoulders as usual, and Bernie lay down on the loveseat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're hoping so," Bernie agreed.  "Jeez, I haven't seen so many people in… Since Thanksgiving, I think!"  Hubert had invited her to Passover seder, of course, but she'd ducked out with the understanding that his family probably wouldn't let her stay absent next year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you need some privacy?" Edelgard asked.  "I'm sure we could go to Hubert's room…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I could go to my own room if I did," Bernie pointed out.  "It isn't as tiring as it used to be, but it is tiring.  Oh!  If you two want some privacy, though…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, we're fine," Edelgard told her.  "I just… haven't seen Hubert outside of work for a while, with the moving and everything."  She leaned against him and he tightened his arm around her shoulders.  "Work is such bullshit right now…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert groaned.  “If I have to toady to one more rich asshole who’s ‘just popping in’ to check if they have enough cash for a fucking beach house,” he griped.  So, technically, that had been one person.  But there had been others like him, and Hubert was always tempted to “trip” and spill hot coffee on their entire torsos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna punch my manager,” Edelgard confessed.  “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>scared I’m gonna punch my manager if he gives me that </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> vacuous smiled and says I didn’t do any promotion-track projects this quarter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He what?” Hubert asked, feeling himself fill with rage.  “Did he do that again last quarter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>El nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does he think they’re magically gifted to you by other managers?  Does he expect you to find the time for the projects he considers promotion-track while you’re learning to audit our entire fucking department?  Where does he get off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sure he gets a bonus,” Edelgard pointed out.  “For saving money.  You know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...By not paying you,” Hubert clarified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And not promoting me.  How tragic that women just aren’t as good at finance as men, and they always seem to quit before they do anything important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always going off to have babies,” Hubert sniped, and Edelgard snorted with laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you leave, I’m leaving with you,” Hubert promised.  “I want to help people secure their futures, not help rich people get richer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t do one without the other,” El reminded him.  “I mean, there are offices that take mostly small accounts, but you have to play the game to rig it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert sighed.  He should’ve listened to his mother, become a doctor or something.  (He was fully aware that, if he became a doctor, she would complain that he wasn’t a lawyer.)  "If I could help you un-rig the misogyny game, I would," Hubert promised her.  "I think I would need to have any impact on hiring to start, though."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You do what you can," she reminded him.  "It's nothing that one person can change, or it would've been done a long time ago."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I will literally switch projects with you," Hubert offered.  They could at least call the bastard out on his biases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It wouldn't do anything," El reminded him.  "You and I both know that an important project is one that a man does, and an unimportant project is one that women do, and if he cared about being consistent, I would've gotten a ludicrous Christmas bonus for being plunged into auditing practically the second I arrived."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mm…  Want to go to a wine bar sometime next week?" Hubert asked.  It was about as much as he was capable of, beyond his existing strategy of amplifying women's voices at meetings and reminding himself not to second-guess them without good reason.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd love to," Edelgard agreed.  "Maybe grab some burgers first, or something; my new weightlifting routine is killing me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She and Ferdinand had started doing a month-long challenge together, so Hubert smiled and said, "I'm so glad I wasn't living with Ferdinand to hear about it every day."  He smiled at Bernie and added, "The company's a lot better here."  She blushed very cutely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard punched him in the arm just a little too hard.  "Hey, say what you want about them, but Ferdinand and Lorenz are really going through it with me," she reminded him.  "I haven't commiserated with you over soreness since high school."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was by design," Hubert reminded her.  "Bernie and I are a 'low-impact walks to look at nature' kind of household, and we barely even do that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"All my lifting is bolts of cloth," Bernie chipped in helpfully, and Edelgard smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll leave you alone, Bernie," El told her.  "It was so good to see both of you.  I'm glad you're really pulling together an apartment you like."  She stood, and Hubert stood with her, and she leaned against his chest and hugged him.  As she went to collect her shoes and purse, she said, "Have a good evening, you two.  Sleep well!" and then she was out the door, headed for the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, that was fun," Hubert said as he walked back into the apartment.  He ran some water into the sangria pitcher.  "If you want to go to bed, I can clean up."  He wasn't very tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh-- no, I'll help," Bernie said, and got up and came into the kitchen.  She paused as she passed Hubert to lean up and kiss him.  "There isn't that much cleanup, anyway."  She flitted around, collecting plates and cups and flatware and napkins, and then crammed them all into a garbage bag, which she tied and put by the door around the time Hubert had finished with the pitcher and gotten the dishwasher loaded up with all of their serving utensils.  "We officially live here," Bernie reminded him, smiling up at him as she leaned against the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We officially lived here three weeks ago," Hubert reminded her, but he couldn't help smiling, himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, but it's a home now," Bernie countered.   "We've had all our friends here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert loomed over her and kissed the top of her head.  "We have," he agreed.  "You threw a party, and everyone enjoyed it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernadetta stammered some kind of deflection, so Hubert ignored that and asked if she wanted to take a shower and she took the out and fled.  He went to his room, stripped, and crawled under the covers.  Dorothea always insisted it was bad for him to read about current events as he fell asleep, but he really enjoyed it.  And, anyway, there was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fascinating</span>
  </em>
  <span> article on a twelfth-century Sothian manuscript that had just been dug up, and the way religious writing and art had been thought about in the period.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometime after the shower stopped, there was a knock on his door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, what's up?" he asked, not bothering to get out of bed.  He still wasn't used  to the fact that Bernadetta could just come to his bedroom any time.  They </span>
  <em>
    <span>lived</span>
  </em>
  <span> together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I come in?" Bernie asked through the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Hubert said, putting his phone down and  sitting up.  His door opened and there was Bernadetta, in a loose tank top and sleep shorts, her hair still damp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just thought… You know, since we just had a party where the whole point is that we belong here…" she started, and sat down on the side of Hubert's bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert smiled.  Not the small, polite, tightly controlled smiles he allowed around most people, but a broad grin.  "We've had sex here before," he reminded her, already reaching into the top drawer of his nightstand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And we've lived here for three weeks," Bernie pointed out.  "But we only made it official today."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well.  Who am I to argue with that logic?" Hubert asked as he pulled some supplies out so they'd be in easy reach.  Then he leaned forward to pet Bernie's damp hair and pulled her toward him for a kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Bernie?" Hubert asked one evening in early October, as they finished a horror movie about residential schools in Canada, "I was… I've been thinking about…"  Tripping over words wasn't like him; why couldn't he just act casual? "--Would you like to go ring shopping with me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt her body go tense against his, felt the way she stopped moving completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Or-- I would be honored if you would-- that is--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would love to," Bernie told him.  He felt her start shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bernie?"  He looked at her.  He'd been looking at his lap out of nerves.  "Wha-- you're crying."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I'm--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I won't be offended if you say no," Hubert told her.  "I hope you know that."  He'd put a lot of pressure on her, hadn't he?  He'd been so blinded by his own nerves that--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so happy," Bernadetta told him, and sobbed, and turned to dive into his chest, nestle her face there and hug him hard around the waist.  "I'm so happy, Hubert."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He combed his fingers through her silky-soft hair, held her head against his chest.  "Is this… something your parents used to say?" he asked quietly.  He realized his other hand was perfectly free, so he rubbed her back, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie nodded and didn't elaborate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert sighed.  He loved her to pieces.  He often wished he were the type of man who could commit some kind of violent bodily harm against Bernie's parents, but for now, he'd settle for comforting her when she was upset.  "I love you," he said, to be sure he was clear, "and I want to spend my life with you, and I know you have better taste than me, so it only seems right that you should be the one who picks the ring."  Bernie laughed a little through her tears.  Her face was still buried against him.  "My sweetest Bernie-bear…"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You're</span>
  </em>
  <span> sweet," she protested, like she was throwing a schoolyard insult back at him.  "I can't believe you want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>marry</span>
  </em>
  <span> me…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, it's mutual," Hubert admitted.  "I can't believe I met this incredibly talented, brave woman who I fell in love with, who makes me hand-embroidered flower broaches, who makes everything she touches into a nicer and more convenient version of what it was before.  What do I even do?  I pick good movies and offer you a hit of my vape sometimes.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>You're</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one who's out of </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> league, Bernie."  He scritched his fingertips over her scalp, careful not to get her with his fingernails.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She popped up like the prarie dog from that ancient meme, already glaring at him.  "Never say that about yourself!" she scolded, and she really sounded angry.  Hubert hadn't seen her angry in…  Since college, he was pretty sure.  "You're so kind, Hubert!  And generous; you're always running errands for everyone, and making time for people, and you barely ask anything in return -- didn't even ask me to share a room so we could save on rent -- and I won't let you talk about yourself that way!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bernie?  Sweetie, it was a joke," Hubert told her.  He used his gentlest voice; he couldn't let there be any confusion.  He couldn't bear to intimidate her right now.  "I know that, Bernie.  I do my best to be a good friend to everyone, just like they've been good friends to me.  I proposed because…  I've been feeling more and more comfortable as we've kept living together, and I can't imagine I would have felt that way if you didn't also feel comfortable around me.  I shouldn't have joked when you were upset."  Sometimes, it helped.  Helped her get out of her panicked headspace, helped her stop thinking so hard about what was upsetting her.  But there was always the possibility it could backfire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie nodded and sniffled and Hubert crossed two names off the eventual guest list of their wedding.  (That was a lie.  Her parents would never have been added to the list in the first place.)  She leaned forward and hugged him again, her face buried in his neck this time, against his high collar.  "And I love you,"  she said.  "Don't you ever forget it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It'll be a little hard to forget," Hubert pointed out gently.  He resumed rubbing her back.  "We'll have it written down and everything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie laughed a little.  "Why would you need it written down?" she asked, and he could hear she was smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was there… not a Christian equivalent of a ketubah?  Hubert had always assumed they were just kept in the married couple's bedroom, or that he just didn't know how to recognize them.  He wasn't religious, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> deeply in love, and there was something astoundingly romantic about signing your wedding vows and displaying them in your home for everyone to see.  "It's a tradition," he said, instead of trying to figure out how much of it he would eventually need to explain.  "I'll show you when I'm not amped up from proposing to you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie laughed and kissed him.  "I think maybe there's something I could do to help you come down," she said, grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd gotten some nice ropes just recently, and Bernadetta's nimble fingers were excellent at tying and untying them, but he said, "I think I'll just take a shower and read for a bit."  He kissed her and added, "Look up jewelry stores, okay?  I want to get you something you love."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie nodded and they cuddled a bit until Hubert stood up, kissing the back of Bernie's hand and the back of her left ring finger as he stood, and went to take a shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie's ring still felt awkward and thick on her hand when she went to visit Linhardt, Caspar, and Galen the rat.  It had only been a few days since it had been set and sized and she and Hubert had grabbed some banh mi and gone all the way to Discovery Park to watch the sunset over the Sound.  A few days since he had proposed, and now here they were, still living their lives the way they were before, but she had a ring on her finger with a purple sapphire and little yellow lab-grown sapphires.  It felt distinctly strange and risky to sit on public transit wearing expensive jewelry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caspar buzzed her in and came out to the stairwell to greet her.  "Hey, Lin just got home from a test, so they're passed out," he told her at the lowest volume he could manage.  The echoes from the stairs negated his attempt to be quiet.  "--Oop!  Nope, hallways aren't for you, little guy," he said, and ducked down to carefully pick up Galen's ball and carry him back inside.  "I swear.  Galen, come out and say hi to Aunt Bernie."  He unscrewed the lid and Galen climbed up onto Caspar's shoulder, and jumped ship readily when Caspar leaned down next to Bernadetta.  He was always a nice companion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, what were you thinking about?" Bernie asked.  As long as she was using their consultation as an excuse for a social call, she could at least be professional about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I saved all my research in a Pinterest board," Caspar told her, which was… certainly a decision he'd made.  "Have you had lunch?  I'm starving."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, um, I could eat."  She'd had a pretty small breakfast…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caspar busied himself in the kitchen, pulling cheeses out of the fridge and putting them on a cutting board, while he said, "Cool.  Cool, cool.  So, like we discussed: I'm trying to get into the historical circuit, and you need totally different clothes for that.  But I still wanna be, like… a flashy boxer who's really cool and sexy.  D'you like Triscuits?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Bernie a moment to realize his question wasn't related to anything else he'd said.  "Oh, um.  No, thank you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cool.  How 'bout seed crackers?"  He held up a box of multigrain crackers.   She'd been watching him the whole time, and still wasn't sure when he'd crossed from the fridge to the pantry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, those look fine,” she agreed.  Galen started climbing around her shoulders then, so she petted him and hoped he didn’t climb down her back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caspar grabbed a couple knives from the knife bar, as well as a spoon, and nodded to Bernadetta to go first as he carried the cheese tray he’d assembled.  She put a careful hand over Galen’s tiny back and walked into the living room, where she sat down carefully, trying not to disturb the little rodent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I’m the best at figuring out… sexy details,” Bernie told him as he opened a jar of pepper jelly and started unboxing the crackers.  “I might need a little extra help to figure out exactly what you’re looking for.”  And sexiness was subjective, anyway.  It was obvious that Hubert wasn’t conventionally attractive, but on the other hand, a guy who looked like he’d just walked off the set of a vampire movie worked fine for Bernadetta.  Heck, who even knew why Hubert was attracted to her when he was otherwise openly gay?  He wasn’t looking for a beard, and Bernadetta didn’t feel like she had any particularly masculine attributes, but Hubert was so in love with her that they lived together and his ring was on her finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, whatever Caspar thought was sexy clearly had something to do with Linhardt and, apparently, also something to do with boxing?  Or working out in general?  She had no idea.  Maybe his Pinterest board would clarify.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t mean to, like, make it skimpy or have weird crotch stuff or something,” Caspar told her, smiling.  “Just, like.  You know.  The power and physicality of it all.  It’s pretty sexy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see that,” Bernie agreed.  She didn’t, really, but if vampires did it for her, there was no reason sports shouldn’t do it for Caspar.  “But, you’re just interested in a classic, accurate outfit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, exactly,” Caspar told her.  “Here, I can get Galen’s ball if you don’t want to bother him.”  He left the room.  He was always moving.  It used to bother her, make her worried that she should be moving, too, but now it was just… Caspar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caspar scooped a completely willing Galen back into the rat ball and put him down to run around more, and Bernie cut herself a few slices of cheese.  “What time period were you thinking of?” she asked.  How long had boxing been a sport?  Was it one of those ‘technically forever, but the rules are more strict now’ sort of things?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caspar grabbed his laptop and opened it, and paused to stuff half a cracker loaded with pepper jelly and smoked cheese into his mouth.  “Well, it looks like pants didn’t change that much for a long time,” he said.  “Or, the exact shape of them changed a lot, like fashion does, but the way they’re put together didn’t, really.  And shirts barely changed at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He showed her his Pinterest board of historical costuming research, and the way peasant clothing had stayed roughly the same for long periods of time, and they discussed options for maybe half an hour.  Bernie even brought her swatch book out, after making Caspar promise he wouldn’t touch it with residual cheese oil on his hands, and showed him some nice fabrics she thought he’d like (he was impressively unhelpful at deciding which one he wanted, but she felt pretty confident that he would like whatever she made him) and did some quick sketches to ensure she knew exactly what shape all the clothes should have.  When they were discussing buttons and embroidery, the bedroom door opened and Linhardt came in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was summoned by the sound of pepper jelly,” they said, and yawned and stretched their shoulders before grabbing a chair from the breakfast nook so they could sit across the table from Bernie and Caspar.  “Never go to grad school.”  They started helping themself to cheese and crackers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, did your test go badly?” Bernie asked.  “I’m sorry to hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Test went fine.  Just tired,” Linhardt told her with their mouth full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, then.  They got a little cranky sometimes, after waking up, and it was nothing to worry about, it wasn’t her fault, a little misinterpretation could happen to anyone, “Oops!  S-sorry.  I didn’t mean to imply you’re bad at medicine; I really just meant to commiserate, since I remember how stressed I used to get over tests--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Linhardt interrupted.  “Has Cas shown you the embroidery yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!  Um… No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Linhardt nodded to Caspar, who grinned and clicked through one of his Pinterest links.  “There are all these really cool examples of this kind of big, bright embroidery on waistbands and cuffs,” he told her as he scrolled slowly through an article on historical embroidery, pausing over all the pictures.  “I was thinking, since I’m mostly Adrestian on both sides, maybe it could be Adrestian embroidery, specifically.  Or, sometimes they do a panel down the side of each leg, which also looks really cool.  There’s also this thing, in a lot of places, where they’d do bright red embroidery on the collars of their shirts, which I just think looks really fun and exciting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie, as a friend, didn’t charge Caspar for the consultation, but she did make sure he was aware of her rates and how long she expected to be working on the clothing and embroidery.  He agreed easily, saying he’d been saving up and he’d been wanting to get into renaissance faires and things for a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it ends up nice, I might commission you, too,” Linhardt told her.  “That might be more complicated, though; Cas and I are getting married once I have my doctorate, and I completely expect my parents to disown me when that happens, so we’ll see if I’m even able to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like so many things Linhardt said, Bernie had no idea how to respond to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.  I’m bored and you have everything you need, right?  I can’t help noticing that lovely rock on your hand.  Bet it keeps the catcallers away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie smiled a little.  “I guess…” she admitted, and twisted the ring a little on her finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey, I didn’t notice,” Caspar chimed in.  “It’s really nice!  Can I see it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie held her hand up.  She felt bashful, getting congratulated, but it was going to happen sometime, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s sooooo sparkly!  It’s really lovely, Bernadetta!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bernie thanked him quietly, and held her hand out across the table when Linhardt gestured.  “Yeah, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>nice,” they confirmed.  “And it suits you.  That’s a really good find.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t entirely sure what they meant by that, since she’d had the stones set specially, but she said, “Yeah, I was really glad to find a design I like so much,” which seemed to be what they were complimenting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The topic seemed to drop off after that, so she chatted about her recent projects and Linhardt’s thesis research and Caspar’s students at the gym, then they turned on the TV and watched some memes and got mildly stoned while enjoying a foul-mouthed botanist talk about guerilla planting in urban areas, and then they went out for dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their friends asked very strange questions about her ring, on the whole.  And, while she enjoyed being preened over and appreciated, she was starting to wish she could just get a straightforward 'congratulations' on her engagement.  She and Hubert had come a long way, after all!  She could barely leave her room in high school, or freshman year, and now she went on the bus by herself all the time!  Hubert used to scare her so badly she fainted at the sound of his laugh, and now she just saw him as her soft, thoughtful, gentle boyfriend who could also scare creeps away with a look.  And Hubert had come a long way, too, from being edgy just to get a rise out of people to developing really genuine, deep friendships.  And, besides all that, figuring out how they wanted their wedding to go was a lot of work!  There was no detail too small for them to realize the other person had completely different expectations about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She joined Hubert and Edelgard one Thursday evening at a Moroccan hole-in-the-wall they hadn't tried before.  After the waitress took their order, Edelgard said, "Bernadetta, is that a new ring?" and Bernie smiled.  Edelgard was Hubert's oldest friend, and was raised in the same strict, manners-oriented environment as her and Hubert.  Surely, she would say the one word Bernie had been waiting for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It is," she said, and offered her hand.  Edelgard took it, and tilted it side to side, looking at the gems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's really beautiful," she said, and pulled Bernie's hand closer to her face.  "Oh, that's a gorgeous stone!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a sapphire," Bernie said, and Edelgard nodded as if that was… expected?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's really perfect for you," she said as she gave Bernie her hand back.  "It's so sweet."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could almost feel Hubert's satisfied smile.  She definitely felt his foot nudge hers under the table.  "I considered looking for one that looks like a sundew," she said, "since they're so round and cute, and I knew I wanted smaller gems around the main one.  But, when I looked them up online, all I could think about was how they looked like they would catch on things all the time -- you know, since they have that sort of halo of beads around them -- and I do so much sewing and embroidery and cooking…  This setting seems really secure."  And Hubert had a really sweet habit of kissing her ring and comparing it to her eyes, which he sometimes followed by kissing her eyelids, too, and there was really nothing that could compare to Hubert saying how beautiful her eyes were, so the stone was a good choice, as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"All my nice jewelry was passed down," Edelgard told her.  "It must feel so nice to have something that's just yours."  She was going to say it any moment, though, right?  She was going to say 'congratulations' and Bernie and Hubert could thank her and say how happy they were.  Ferdinand had been over on Sunday, and she wasn't sure he'd even </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed</span>
  </em>
  <span> the ring.  She was starting to get a little frustrated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, I can't think what I would do if I used jewelry my parents passed down," she said.  The thought had barely crossed her mind.  She and Hubert were already discussing the fact that she should settle with her parents before the wedding, to ensure that things went smoothly when they combined their finances and there were no questionable "gifts" in Hubert's account history.  "I don't think I want anything physical from them.  I think having mementos from my family would only hurt me."  She didn't know who that sort of thing would go to.  One of her cousins or something, surely.  It was unthinkable that they would keep her in their wills after she'd blackmailed them, especially once she'd married a man they didn't know, who hadn't asked her dad's permission and had lived with her and had sex with her before even getting engaged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have similar feelings about one of my uncles," Edelgard reassured her.  Her voice was soft and strange, so maybe she understood what Bernie was saying.  Maybe she understood it viscerally.  Then she smiled at Hubert, looking a little strained, and said, "Hubert, change the subject for us, will you?  We ought to be having fun."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know," Hubert teased in a perfect deadpan.  "These days, it seems like I specialize in raising topics that make Bernie cry…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It wasn't like that," Bernie protested.  She leaned toward Edelgard a little, like she was sharing really good gossip -- which she was -- and said, "Last night, Hubert told me about ke-- kef--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ketubot," Hubert supplied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ketubots," Bernie repeated.  That still didn't sound right.  She turned to Hubert and asked, "ketubots?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One ketubah, many ketubot," he clarified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great!  Yes!"  She turned back to Edelgard.  "We were talking about ketubot, the Jewish marriage contracts, and even the bland example ones were so sweet, I was crying!"  They were genuinely touching!  Bernie hadn't been to a wedding since she was little, or maybe since she was a teenager (her memory was spotty then), but she'd watched plenty of romance movies, and every time there was a wedding with vows, she got tearful.  And a ketubah was like if you wrote your vows down and signed them as your marriage contract!  It was beyond romantic!  And Hubert wanted to do it with her!!!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, they're absolutely gorgeous, aren't they?" Edelgard asked.  "Did Hubert tell you about his parents' ketubah?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not at all," Bernie told her.  "Is it sweet?"  Hubert said they were usually displayed in a prominent part of the house, like over the mantle or on an accent wall.  Where was his parents' ketubah?  What did it look like?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard laughed.  "Oh, no, it's terrible!" she said.  "It's like… You know, when you're on a department store's website and they're offering to host your wedding registry, and the picture is always of some plates that you don't want, but that you can kind of imagine someone else displaying in a china hutch?  That's their ketubah.  It's like… boilerplate romance.  It's nothing like their relationship!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bold of you to imply my parents </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> a relationship," Hubert cut in.  Edelgard laughed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's such a shame, too, because I'm sure it would be really lovely and meaningful for the right people, but when you read it thinking about them, it's like there's no meaning in it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's definitely all about the details," Bernie agreed.  "And I'm sure it was harder to write a good one back then, before the internet…"  Hubert's parents weren't cold, per se, but she couldn't imagine them as passionate.  She doubted that Hubert's father had ever looked at his mother like he could see the universe in her eyes.  She doubted even more that his mother had ever made a habit of curling up against his father's chest on movie nights, just to feel small and precious and protected.  And, well.  They did only have one child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If either of my parents ever had a grand passion, I think the shock would do them in," Hubert said, because his subtlety and Bernadetta's subtlety very seldom aligned.  "They had a document written up that was sufficient for them to get legally married, and got all the illumination that's expected for a wealthy Reform couple, and they put it in a frame and displayed it in the socially acceptable way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And they had a little kid whose best friend asked lots of questions about that storybook page hanging in the dining room," Edelgard added.  "I had no idea you could just commission custom calligraphy; I thought it was some kind of Jewish fairy tale until I actually read it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's certainly fictional," Hubert mused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, stop," Edelgard scolded.  "It's very mediocre, but it's still signed and dated.  You'll just have to have a better one at your own wedding."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I plan to," Hubert told her, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After multiple weeks of spreadsheets and coordination, they found the magic combination of a rabbi who would officiate an interfaith wedding, a location that was willing to host their very small wedding, and a date when the rabbi and the venue were both available.  With such a small guest list -- just their close friends, Hubert's parents and grandparents, and Bernie's aunt who was the widow of her favorite uncle -- it was both easy and satisfying to send out the save-the-date cards.  They'd been advised not to use black as a wedding color, so their colors were Bernie's beautiful, muted purple and a very nice, not-overdramatic charcoal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like clockwork, the day after they sent the cards, he got a call from Edelgard.  He answered his phone already smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hi, El," he said, and walked out onto his tiny balcony, which had been taken over by a variety of plants.  He couldn't help feeling extremely proud of himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, um, I just got a really weird letter," she told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Weird how?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it says it's a save-the-date for your wedding," El told him, and laughed like she was relaying some sort of joke.  "Dorothea and Petra have the same kind of envelopes, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was with the weird tone of her call?  "El, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the save-the-date for my wedding," he confirmed.  "August third, right?"  Was there some kind of misprint?  Why was she so suspicious?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Um.  Hubert."  There was a weirdly long pause.   Hubert almost prompted her to speak.  It wasn't like Edelgard to be hesitant.  "So, when did you and Bernie start dating?" she asked finally, in a weirdly casual tone, as if that was a normal question to ask your best friend after receiving the next best thing to a wedding invitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In college," Hubert answered.  He was starting to feel kind of creeped out.  "Spring semester, senior year.  You know that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh-huh.  And were you planning on telling anyone, at any point?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I told you," Hubert protested.  Or… "I must have told you.  And we've been pretty obvious about it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard groaned.  "Hubert, you absolute dumbass," she whined.  "If that's you being obvious, being subtle must mean living across the country and never mentioning each other."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We've talked about me and Bernie," Hubert reminded her.  "I went to her apartment practically every weekend, that first year after college.  I specifically asked your advice before we moved in together."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hubert, I am going to strangle you.  I thought you were asking if you should move in together because she's so nervous around people!  I thought you wanted to be sure you weren't bullying her into it!  I had no </span>
  <em>
    <span>idea</span>
  </em>
  <span> there was anything more than that!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You complimented her engagement ring," Hubert argued.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>"We talked about ketubot."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"We talked about ketubot as a random topic of conversation,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Edelgard insisted.  "We talked about your parents' terrible ketubah.  We weren't talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> ketubah!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I distinctly remember us discussing the ketubah Bernie and I are going to write," Hubert reminded her.  "You said our wedding was going to have a lovely, meaningful ketubah, and I agreed with you because we were already drafting one.  If you hadn't pieced it together by then, how was that not obvious?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe because you never bothered to tell me you were bi?" Edelgard asked.  She sounded… angry?  That couldn't be right.  "I don't… Did you think I wouldn't be okay with that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, yes.  He saw where his oversight was, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, I'm still gay," he said, and hoped she'd understand that he hadn't been hiding things from her.  He hadn't expected her to reject some important part of him.  "Everyone I've been attracted to in my life, except for one, they've all been men.  It isn't… I don't feel any different about that than I felt before senior year.  And also, at the same time, I'm in love with Bernadetta."  He said it as plainly as he could, like he was explaining how to put together a piece of furniture and not how to understand his identity.  "We're getting married.  I bought her an engagement ring and we're drafting a ketubah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would that be enough?  Would that satisfy her that her best friend hadn't spent a year and a half lying to her face about who he was?  He leaned down and pressed his face against his arm on the balcony railing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Edelgard take a deep breath on the other end of the line.  He couldn't brace himself for the worst when he had no way to know what direction this conversation could go in.  Did he just sound like some kind of idiot in deep denial?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess you're even more of a gay disaster than I thought," El told him at last.  "Look, I'll tell Dorothea and Petra, alright?  But I think you should call Ferdinand.  Do Linhardt and Caspar know?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think it's safe to say I'm a terrible judge of who knows," Hubert reminded her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed, and Hubert forced a sort of shaky smile, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tell them," she instructed.  "They'll be happy for you.  God, you're such a dumb goth."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're such a prep," Hubert responded automatically, even though he hadn't said those words since he was a teenager.  "Jeez, El, what're you gonna do with me?  I'm too gay to function."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll just have to go to your wedding," she reassured him.  "Go, call Ferdinand.  Then tell me all the sweet shit you've been keeping to yourself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was never a secret," Hubert reminded her.  "I guess we just… don't kiss in public much."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Or at all," El sniped.  "Dorothea just got home; I'm hanging up before she opens her mail."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Say hi for me," Hubert said, hoping she heard him before she disconnected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood outside a minute, breathing in the cold, damp air.  It had been raining for two weeks or so, and the air smelled clean and fresh.  He looked back down at his phone and messaged Ferdinand, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Call me when you get home, before opening your mail.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And he went inside to find Bernie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>.-._.-._.-._</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On this day of great celebration and joy, on the first day of the week, the twelfth day of the month of Av in the year 57XX, which corresponds to the third day of August, in the year 20XX here in Seattle, Washington, USA, Hosea, son of Abraham, and Bernadetta, daughter of William, spoke the words and performed the rites which united their lives and affirmed their love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The groom said to the bride: Be consecrated to me as my wife, and I shall always cherish you and care for you, I will sustain you and respect you forever. The bride agreed and became his wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bride said to the groom: Be consecrated to me as my husband, and I shall always cherish you and care for you, I will sustain you and respect you forever. The groom agreed and became her husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The groom and the bride undertake this pledge of love: They choose each other as friends according to the teachings of our ancestors who said, “Acquire a friend with whom you will learn, next to whom you will sleep, and in whom you will confide.” They consecrate themselves to each other and will always be true to one another. They take on all the duties and rights of family members toward each other. They promise to lead a life of justice and loving kindness in their family and community till the end, in accordance with the verse,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me be a seal upon your heart, like the seal upon your arm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bride and the groom acknowledged the responsibilities of this covenant and solemnly accepted the obligations herein. This Ketubah is valid and binding.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!  In order of appearance, the unnamed movies and shows are: Asian at Home (YouTube Series); Only Lovers Left Alive; Rhymes for Young Ghouls (cw: child death, suicide); and Crime Pays but Botany Doesn't (YouTube channel)</p><p>If you want to do the mica powder -&gt; drink glitter thing, be sure to use cosmetic-grade mica powder that's safe for use on lips!  That means you can swallow it (in small amounts) with no adverse effects.</p><p>I hope you enjoyed my fic!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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